PREDATOR DISCWORLD: WATCH THE HUNT
by mozphoto
Summary: He's in Ankh-Morpork, with a few days... to kill.
1. Default Chapter

Predator is owned by Twentieth Century Fox.  
  
Discworld is owned by Terry Pratchett.  
  
PREDATOR/DISCWORLD  
  
Watch the Hunt  
  
By: Mozphoto  
  
There were always new worlds.  
  
There were always opportunities for new hunting grounds.  
  
This one was different.  
  
The hunter was one of the greatest of the Yautja. He'd taken on a xenomorph Queen with only his wrist-blades. He'd hunted shape-shifters in the Delta Quadrant. He'd stalked the ravenous bugblatter beast of Trall. He had even come back, unscathed, from hunting "oomans". Very few could boast that feat.  
  
And yet, THIS came as a surprise.  
  
A turtle.  
  
A monstrous turtle with four enormous elephants on its back.  
  
And on their backs, a world.  
  
A flat world.  
  
A new hunt. This was always welcome.  
  
This was not a good day.  
  
His Grace, Sir Samuel Vimes, commander of the Ankh-Morpork city watch dove behind a barricade as the boulder that had been thrown at him missed by scant inches.  
  
He pulled himself up onto his elbows and saw Captain Carrot and Sergeant Angua beside him.  
  
"Alright Captain, don't keep me in suspense!"  
  
Carrot wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "As near as we can tell, Corporal Littlebottom and Constable Visit stumbled on a supply of slab that was earmarked for the mountains. They were trying to send a clacks for backup when they were spotted by Chrysoprase's gang. Visit was punted through a wall." Carrot took a deep breath. "Littlebottom tried to stand her ground but, well, she's never been a very good fighter. The trolls took her hostage. Constable Dorfl had both his arms smashed off trying to save her, and Sergeant Detritus' crossbow backfired when he tried to give Dorfl cover!"  
  
Vimes gaped. "Good gods! Are they alright?"  
  
"We're pretty sure Detritus'll be ok once he cools down, Visit's being tended to by Igor, sir and Dorfl is having new arms baked on as we speak."  
  
"And Littlebottom?"  
  
"They still have her sir. As near as we can tell, she's unharmed."  
  
"Right, let's finish this quickly captain." Vimes turned to Angua, "Sergeant, we'll need a diversion..."  
  
And the hunter watched from its perch. It seemed that this group was an excellent challenge indeed. Oomans, silicates, shr'tazs, even a lycanthrope and a walking corpse, all working together as a unit. Not something you saw everyday. It had been a few millennia since any yautja had encountered a world where all those species were indigenous.  
  
The entire group now seemed to be following the directions of a middle-aged ooman and were making a tactical advance on the group of silicates that were holding a shr'taz prisoner.  
  
The hunter watched and considered.  
  
The main quarry had been chosen. It was time to establish a challenge.  
  
The Watch had subdued three of the trolls and were advancing on Chrysoprase's hideout when the screaming began. Then a boulder smashed through the wall and landed at Vimes' feet.  
  
It was Chrysoprase's head.  
  
The hunter classified Corporal Nobbs as a human because no other species seemed to come close to a similar heat signature. To make a definite classification, it would have to perform a thorough examination of the internal organs, but, after a second look decided that curiosity was not really worth the effort, in Nobby's case.  
  
Constable Reg Shoe was not the first zombie encountered by the yautja, but zombies were generally not considered a great challenge – they went all to pieces.  
  
(Well, that's chapter one. A Predator loose in Ankh-Morpork. I know, it's starting out like Predator 2, but the similarities will probably end there. Why the City Watch? Well, I just felt that having the Predator face the UU faculty would just be too silly, having it go after Rincewind would be boring – let's face it, the Predator would just get fed up with someone that always runs away, and if I threw Granny Weatherwax into the story I'd start feeling sorry for the Predator!) 


	2. 2

The Predator's hunting ground is the Twentieth Century Fox lot.  
  
Pterry owns the Discworld lock, stock and turtle.  
  
Predator/Discworld: WATCH THE HUNT  
  
By: Mozphoto  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The silicates were too easy. However, slaughtering them did serve a purpose, even if the hunter couldn't eat them. Their lifeless carcasses served as a message to his main prey. Putting the quarry on its guard was the traditional way of beginning the hunt. Work them into a frenzy of paranoia, then strike.  
  
The hunter had waited and observed. Ah, this victim might prove to be a challenge.  
  
"So what you are telling me, commander," Lord Vetinari scowled, "is that twenty trolls were slaughtered, in broad daylight, and left hanging upside down like so many sides of meat, with you and your men only steps away, and you have no idea who did this or how?"  
  
"Sir." Vimes felt idiotic as it was. He once thought that the sight of a dragon drawing breath to incinerate him would haunt him to his grave. That had been replaced by the memory of being surrounded by a group of enraged, but polite dwarves while he informed Mrs. Hammerhock that her husband, Bjorn, had been murdered. That had now been replaced by the sight of Constable Flint vomiting. He'd never seen a troll puke its guts out, he truly wished he was still ignorant. "I've checked with the assassins sir, they assure me they had nothing to do with it."  
  
The patrician raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." Without looking, he pulled a sheet of paper from a pile on his desk. "According to this er, complaint, your method of checking was to barge into Dr. Downey's office, point a sword at his throat, and say, yes, here it is," Vetinari cleared his throat. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, I'll have your head on a pike.' My, but you do have a way with words, Sir Samuel!"  
  
"Sir."  
  
Dr. Downey sat at his desk and pored over the reports on the week's inhumations. He made a mental note to discuss some issues with old Mericet the next day and was about to sign the last report when he heard it.  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRrRrRr  
  
The sound seemed to come from every direction at once. Downey sighed. No doubt a student prank. He supposed the students were long overdue in a lesson of humility.  
  
"I'lL hAvE yOuR hEaD."  
  
Now the head of the Assassin's Guild was annoyed. To be harassed by the Watch, at all hours, was going too far indeed! "Really Vimes, this is most undignified. Even for you."  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRrRrRr "ViMeS fOr YoU."  
  
A very large hand clamped down on the top of his head from behind and held the chief assassin immobile. He didn't even have time to scream before the twin blades tore into his back, severing his skull and spinal column from the rest of his body.  
  
Oh well, not much of a challenge either. But then, used properly, most effective.  
  
Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch, Duke of Ankh, awoke the next morning, washed, and dressed. He then spent a considerable amount of time playing with his baby son, kissed his wife goodbye, and walked out of his house on his way to another day of work.  
  
Jammed into the ground, in front of the gates of his estate, was a pike. Dr. Downey's head was on it. 


	3. 3

Predator is owned by Twentieth Century Fox.  
  
Discworld is owned by Terry Pratchett.  
  
PREDATOR/DISCWORLD  
  
Watch the Hunt  
  
By: Mozphoto  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Vimes and Vetinari stared at one another.  
  
Vimes broke the silence. "Do you want to have me arrested?"  
  
A grim smile played briefly across the Patrician's lips. "You are many things that many people find disagreeable Commander. However, having known you all these years, I'm quite certain that you are not a cold blooded killer."  
  
"The bloody chief assassin's head on a pike in front of my home, less than a day after I threatened him with just that and you don't think I did it?"  
  
"Do you want me to clap you in irons?" Vetinari rose from his chair and turned to gaze out the window. "Has his body been found?"  
  
"Yes. It was hanging upside down, in my office."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Vimes shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I was thinking that maybe a vacation might be in order, sir."  
  
"Get out of the city, so that no-one gets hurt when this killer finally stops playing and comes after you?" Vetinari had not turned away from the window, but Vimes could hear the amused tone in his voice. "No, Your Grace, I think people will be more likely to believe that you kill Dr. Downey if you suddenly pack up and leave."  
  
It always irritated Vimes when people called him "Your Grace", so he focused more on the possible suspects. "Someone who attacks that quickly and visciously – almost reminds me of Carcer, but he's dead and, while he was a crazy bastard, he would not have stood a chance against those trolls."  
  
The Patrician picked up the thread, "Someone immensely strong, that could get in and out of places unnoticed, or unmolested."  
  
"And someone who is in some way connected to me."  
  
The Patrician held up three fingers and began ticking them off. "Captain Carrot, Sergeant Angua, and-"  
  
Vimes voice ehoed through the palace as he ran out. "Bloody vampires!" 


	4. 4

I don't own any of the characters, other people do.  
  
Discworld/Predator  
  
WATCH THE HUNT  
  
Chapter 4  
  
"Really, Mr. Vimes, ah-haha, you must learn to come up with better accusations you know." Dragon King of Arms would have been white with rage if he weren't bone white already.  
  
"It could only have been a bloodsucker like you that could've done all these murders." Vimes very slowly, very deliberately lit a match. "And I seem to recall you saying that you'd get even with me for, ahem, some imagined grievance."  
  
"But it wasn't me!" the vampire shrieked. "I haven't left my offices for a few years. All I have been doing since our last meeting is reconstructing my archives." He motioned to the bookshelves around him. They were nearly full.  
  
Vimes' mouth dropped open. He remembered having a good look around at the volumes that had filled the shelves completely, before he had incinerated the lot of them. There had been hundreds. It had only been a few years ago. But then, what was a few years to a vampire? Vimes was impressed, in spite of himself.  
  
Still, it was concievable that the old leech had found time for these killings. Revenge was a very powerful motive. And yet-  
  
He lit his cigar and slowly, methodically blew the smoke into the vampires face. "If I find out it was you,"  
  
"You have done quite enough to me already, Mr. Vimes! Please leave."  
  
It watched from the rafters, following the quarry and its subordinates. Their heat signatures far more telling than their shapes.  
  
#$%&  
  
No, that wasn't it. iT #$ YoU  
  
iT wAs YoU  
  
Not quite.  
  
It WaS yOu.  
  
Ah, perfect.  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRrRr  
  
Dragon King of Arms sat in his study and tried to concentrate.  
  
The impudence of that trumped up thief taker! Of course he had PLANNED to avenge himself upon Vimes, but the archives were a higher priority.  
  
He picked up his quill and was reaching for the inkwell when something caught his attention. Just out of the corner of his eye. Someone or something was in his study.  
  
It WaS yOu.  
  
"Vimes!" Dragon spat. "I will personally complain to Lord Vetinari for this harassment!"  
  
I'lL hAvE yOuR hEaD.  
  
The vampire had had enough. He would dispose of this insect once and for all. It had been a while since he truly let himself go anyway. He could feel his incisors growing into fangs, his nails extending into claws, and his night-black wings unfurling. He glided forward.  
  
What stepped forward to meet him seemed to appear out of nothing and it was certainly not Samuel Vimes. It was too big to be Vimes, for starters. It lowered itself into a fighting stance and flexed its hands.  
  
SNIKT!  
  
Two serated blades extended from a large buckler on its right arm.  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRr  
  
The immortal herald lunged in with his claws and slashed at the hunter's midsection, drawing first blood.  
  
Blood?  
  
It was green and glowed. It didn't smell right either. Whatever this thing was, it was not of the Disc.  
  
No matter, if it bled, he could kill it.  
  
He swung again, only to have it met by the hunter's wrist blades.  
  
The vampire screamed as his severed hand fell to the floor.  
  
The hunter spun around in a backhanded swing. Too late, Dragon King of Arms noticed that it had a wooden stake in its left hand. 


	5. 5

Predator is owned by Twentieth Century Fox.  
  
Discworld is owned by Terry Pratchett.  
  
PREDATOR/DISCWORLD  
  
Watch the Hunt  
  
By: Mozphoto  
  
Chapter 5  
  
It had not been a good couple of days.  
  
The dessicated remains of Dragon King of Arms had been found by one of his assistants. Except for the skull.  
  
At that point, both Vimes and Vetinari were in full agreement and the entire Watch suffered for it. Everyone was brought on duty. All leaves and holidays of any kind were cancelled. Patrols marched through the streets of Ankh-Morpork with such frequency, many thought martial law had been declared.  
  
Angua came down the stairs of the Watch house as she buckled here sword belt. She had just returned from trying to follow the strange scent that had been left behind at the crime scene. She'd thought she was on the right track until she reached Gerhard Sock's slaughterhouse. The smell of freshly spilled blood and raw meat was too overpowering.  
  
She sat down at her desk and began to write her report.  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRr  
  
Angua looked up from her writing to see if a cat had wandered in to the Watch house.  
  
But she couldn't see one.  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRr  
  
She couldn't smell one, either.  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRr  
  
Then she remembered, she'd never heard a cat purr before in her whole life.  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRr  
  
Because.  
  
Cats.  
  
Hate.  
  
Werewolves.  
  
PuRrRrRrRrRr  
  
Her chair shot across the room and out the door, nearly decapitating Nobby as he entered, as she lunged over her desk into the middle of the room.  
  
She forced the transformation to come about faster than ever before.  
  
She couldn't see it, but she could smell it. A mixture of blood and – something she'd never smelled before.  
  
Watchmen piled into the building at Nobby's cry of alarm, weapons drawn. They were all very loyal to Vimes and every one of them wanted a shot at whoever it was that was stalking their commander.  
  
Vimes and Carrot were just exiting the Patrician's palace when they saw the clacks signal: "Officer in danger, Pseudopolis Yard." Without a word they both broke into a run, watchmen joining up behind them as they went.  
  
By the time they reached the watch-house, it looked like a war-zone. Swords drawn, Commander and Captain picked their way through the bodies. Most were dead a few were unconscious.  
  
When they passed through the shattered doorway, the sight that greeted them chilled them both to the bone. The main room was splattered with blood. There were bits of Constable Shoe everywhere. His head was altogether another matter, but we'll get to that in a moment, because there was something else in the room and it was fighting Sergeant Angua.  
  
Whatever it was, it was humanoid in shape, but that's where any resemblance to any of the multitude of species indigenous to the Disc stopped. It was easily ten feet tall, its skin a sickly pale green. Its musculature was even more impressive than Carrot's (Not that anyone was in the mood to make such comments at the time anyway.) and could be easily seen through the thin netting that covered its entire body and a few pieces of armour. It seemed to have braided its hair into several, long, black tendrils. But the worst part was the helmet. It bore a passing resemblance to a Tsortian burial mask, in that it was angular and totally void of expression, and was very skull-like in shape.  
  
As it tried to skewer Angua on a type of pike, it was also shaking its left leg, in an attempt to dislodge Constable Shoe's head. It appeared that Reg had been decapitated while biting the monster's leg and was still holding on for dear after-life while grunting muffled obceneties at it ("Come on, you ugly mother-fucker! I'll bite your bloody knee-caps off, I will!" for example.).  
  
Both Angua and the monster were bleeding profusely. The Sergeant's deep, red blood mixing with the creature's glowing, green in puddles all over the watch-house floor (Mrs. Cake probably would've been pleased with the colour scheme since red and green make brown.).  
  
Angua lunged at the hunter, fangs bared, but was intercepted by a back- handed fist that connected with such a sickening crunch that left no doubt that the werewolf's neck was broken. Her body landed on the floor, limp and lifeless, at Carrot's feet.  
  
Carrot drew his sword. "Mr. Vimes sir, get the men out of here." Without checking to see if his Vimes even heard him, Carrot strode into the room and squared of against the monster. 


	6. Chapter 6

Predator is owned by Twentieth Century Fox.

Discworld is owned by Terry Pratchett.

PREDATOR/DISCWORLD

Watch the Hunt

By: Mozphoto

Chapter 6

Vimes picked up Angua's limp form and carried it out into the street. He set her body gently down and then returned to the watch-house to help Carrot fight the monster.

The hunter looked the ooman up and down. It was much larger than the average ooman. It's heat signature was also very strange. It was so strong, it seemed to force everything else into the background. Perhaps, it thought, this one should have been the primary target. The hunter pressed a stud on its pike, causing it to retract to a quarter its full length and holstered it. It then flexed its right arm, causing the blades to extend from the wrist buckler.

Carrot circled the creature. He had always believed that so long as his cause was just, he had nothing to fear. Then why is it that he was now so frightened that he could single handedly keep Harry King in business for a fortnight? Carrot swallowed hard. The voice in his head that he so often tried to bury under the simple, honest façade of Captain Carrot began to scream with rage. This thing had slaughtered citizens of HIS city. It had stalked the commander of HIS guard. It had hurt HIS woman! This was Ankh-Morpork and he was its king!

Without taking his eyes of the hunter, he wrenched Constable Thighbiter's battle-axe from the wall with his left hand and with both weapons raised, leapt in to attack.

As Vimes reached the doorway, he heard the terrifying ululating of Carrot performing the dwarfish battle yodel. He looked in and saw his friend doing battle with the monster. It didn't look good.

While Carrot was blocking and parrying the hunter's attacks, it was painfully obvious that this creature was considerably stronger than the captain and each blow from its wrist-blades caught on Carrot's sword forced the watchman back.

Carrot's attacks, on the other hand, were blocked with ease.

Vimes knew he would have to do something to help his friend quickly, but he wasn't a fool. If Carrot was having difficulty fighting this thing, it would make mince-meat out of Vimes. He cast about him and found a loaded crossbow.

Perfect.

He sighted the crossbow on the monster's torso and fired.

It seemed to Vimes that the disc had suddenly slowed down. As if it knew what he had been thinking all along, the hunter spun around and snatched the bolt out of the air.

And that was distraction enough.

Carrot brought his sword around and down, slashing the creature diaganolly across the back.

The hunter roared with pain and rage.

Vimes threw aside the crossbow, drew his sword, and ran towards the monster. Carrot spun on his heel to deliver a decapitating blow, but he was in too close. The hunter caught his sword arm with one hand and drove the crossbow bolt into Carrot's stomach with the other.

Before Vimes could close half the distance, Carrot was sinking to his knees and the monster had leapt through a hole in the wall.

Vimes gave chase. Stupid old man, he screamed at himself. Too old, and too slow and now half the watch had been slaughtered. Well, he thought, he'd be damned if so much as one more citizen of his city would be killed by this sadistic killing machine.

Igor had returned to the watch house from his latest shopping trip. Without as much as a second thought, he began threading a needle and working out which parts went where. "Goodneth grathiouth," he muttered, "tho much to do and tho little time!"

Upon reach the river Ankh, Vimes realized that he couldn't see the creature any more. It seemed to have just vanished in the heat haze.

He looked around slowly, hoping to spot something, anything and spotted the strange, glowing fluid that seemed to be trailing up the street as though a bleeding man had run that way. Only the trail went straight up a wall.

Vimes slowly raised his eyes to the rooftop and saw, something?

It seemed as though there was a very specific patch of heat haze on the roof. Vimes was just about to write it off as an hallucination, when to glowing eyes flashed briefly from the top of the ripples in the air.

Vimes legs chose that moment to take over and threw him sideways to the ground. At the same moment, a ball of green fire erupted from the distortion.

The fireball hit a fertilizer cart Vimes had been standing in front of and the cart exploded.

The blast lifted Vimes into the air and landed him in the turbid, so-called waters of the Ankh.


	7. Chapter 7

_Predator is owned by Twentieth Century Fox._

_Discworld is owned by Terry Pratchett._

_PREDATOR/DISCWORLD_

**Watch the Hunt**

_By: Mozphoto_

Chapter 7

Night had fallen in Ankh-Morpork.

The Crew were sitting around a small fire underneath a small dock on the banks of the river Ankh. Aside from the occasional spine wracking, phlegm filled cough, and the odd muttered "Buggrit," they were silent.

A small animal (it had to be a dog, because the only other thing it could've been was the living embodiment of halitosis) sitting beside Foul Ole Ron suddenly pricked up its ears and began sniffing the air more intently. This was no ordinary dog. Aside from the fact that it looked like something the cat brought in and then brought up, it could also speak to humans and had a sense of smell that even impressed werewolves (when you consider that most werewolves would rather stick their noses up a skunk's ass than get within twenty yards of Foul Ole Ron, you'll understand that impressed can, in some extremely specialized sense, be synonymous with horrified). Gaspode trotted closer to the edge of the riverbank in time to see a terrible figure slowly rise up out of the Ankh with a horrible squelching noise.

The figure stumbled and fell down a few times before finally reaching dry land and by that time, Gaspode had been able to identify the familiar scent that was coming from the muddy, ragged apparition. It wasn't easy, since it was covered with what can only be described as the Ankh and its proximity to Foul Ole Ron, but there was no doubt in Gaspode's mind.

Mr. Vimes was still alive. Mr. Vimes was hurt. Mr. Vimes was extremely tired. Overriding all these facts was that Mr. Vimes was bloody furious and was not someone to be anywhere near in case he decided to take it out on you.

* * *

Igor was still hard at work, putting watchmen back together again. He'd been at it for hours and showed no sign whatsoever of tiring. In fact, he really was enjoying himself. He hadn't felt this useful since Mr. Vimes had first brought him to Ankh-Morpork.

Sgt. Colon, Nobby, and the recently reassembled Reg were overseeing repairs to the Pseudopolis Yard. Many watchmen had died today, but thanks to Igor, a lot more were on the mend. They were just lifting the front door of the watch house back into place when they heard the sound of something wet being dragged along the cobbles behind them. All three turned just in time to catch Vimes before he collapsed.

* * *

Vimes opened his eyes and groaned. Every inch of his body ached. He looked around and realized that he was in the watch house infirmary. Igor was standing over him smiling (well, as close as you can get to a smile with some Igors, he was showing his teeth and the corners of his mouth were turned up, so it must have been at least some sub-species of smile).

"Hello, your Grathe! Tho glad your thtill with uth!"

"Hello, Igor. How long have I been out?"

"Jutht a couple of hourth, thur. I wath planning on letting you thleep a few more hourth.I've been looking in on you between operathionth."

Vimes looked down at Igor's apron. It wasn't just bloodstained, it looked as though it had been marinated in bodily fluids of all kinds for days. "How many did we lose, Igor?"

"Thixteen, thur. Thankfully, Thargeant Angua jutht theemeth to re-animate after a few hourth. Captain Carrot wath touch and go for a while, but I think he'th out of the woodth now."

Vimes slowly got to his feet and climbed the stairs to his office.

Sixteen men.

Men that were under his command.

His men.

It had been a long time since Vimes had really wanted a drink. Oh he'd needed one quite often on this job, especially since he'd stopped drinking. But it had been years since he'd actually wanted to down an entire bottle of Bearhugger's in one go. Maybe later he actually would indulge. God's knew he deserved it.

But not yet.

He crossed the office to the closet opposite his desk and pulled out a long box. He placed it on the desk, opened it and reread the card lying on top of the scimitar within.

_"For when 72 hours seems far too long. – Ahmed"_

He lifted the curved sword and hefted it. He knew better then to test the edge. When the weapon had first arrived he'd been foolish enough to do so and nearly split his thumb in half. The blade was a magnificent example of workmanship. It could cut through just about anything.

Now, Sam Vimes thought to himself, I'm going to finish this. The bastard was obviously killing people who held some sort of power in the city. It had decided, for some reason, that Vimes was its primary target. But if it thought that Vimes was dead, it hunt down someone else in a position of power in Ankh-Morpork. The answer was laughably simple and the only reason Vimes hesitated was because he was tempted to let this creature kill Vetinari before he lopped off its head.

No.

Business before pleasure.


End file.
